Holmes Saves the Day and his Watson
by SilverCat63
Summary: On Watson's wedding day, a drunk Holmes comes to save him from "making a terrible mistake." Crack!fic warning, folks. Slight slashy undertones of a Holmes/Watson nature.


**Author's Note: **This was originally posted on a Sherlock Holmes kink meme over on LiveJournal. My dear dragon's top hat inspired this and posted the original prompt. I promised to fill it. I didn't go to sleep last night until I got this written out, so please forgive any errors. Also, this is my first Sherlock fic, and quite possibly my last, so don't expect too much.

**The original prompt was: **_On the day of Watson's wedding, Holmes gets high as a kite or drunk and decides that Watson needs saving. So he steels a horse and rides off to save Watson. Holmes bursts into the church and swoops Watson up like a damsel in distress - no matter how willing Watson may or may not be._

_**X**_

"And do you, John Watson, take Mary Morston for your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do you part?"

Doctor John Watson looked gravely into Mary's shining, hopeful eyes. "I - "

A loud neigh rang out over a deep booming noise at the churches large wooden door. Alarmed, Watson turned to see what the commotion was. Suddenly the door burst open, and Watson could only gape in astonishment.

Sherlock Holmes was clutching desperately to the mane of a rearing horse. He was unshaven and scruffier than Watson had ever seen him before. What on earth was Holmes doing?

"WATSON!" Holmes roared, looking frantically at the shocked guests. "Where are you?"

He dug his heels into the horse's flanks and trotted up the aisle, and Watson watched in horrified fascination as Holmes drew a revolver and pointed it at the ceiling. There was a loud bang and a flash. The horse startled and pranced sideways a few steps.

"Sorry," Holmes muttered as his dirty leg brushed Mary's Great Aunt Margery. The poor woman's gasp and subsequent faint finally spurred Watson to action.

"Holmes, what the hell are you doing?" He shot an apologetic glance to Mary and left her at the altar. "Take that beast outside immediately."

"Ah, Watson! My dear Wa'szon," Holmes slurred, "there you are. I've found you."

"Yes, you've found me. Now un-find me!" he fumed. "For God's sake man, you're ruining my wedding."

Holmes frowned for a moment then brightened. "But I've found you," he repeated. "I came to rescue you, Watson."

"Rescue me?" Watson sputtered.

"Yes!" he declared. "I've come to rescue you from making a terrible mistake. You must come with me at once!"

"No. I most certainly am _not_ coming with you."

"But I'm rescuing you, Watson. When you rescue someone, they have to come with you." Holmes leaned down over the horse's neck and said, in a conspiratorial whisper, "I can protect you from Mary. She won't trouble you again, dear Watson."

Watson could only glance helplessly back at Mary where she still stood at the altar. He couldn't tell if she was furious or about to burst out laughing. Turning back to his wayward friend, Watson said, "Holmes, listen to me. You are drunk and not thinking clearly. I must ask you to leave. Immediately."

Holmes hung his head, mumbling, "I am not drunk. I'm saving you."

"John," Mary called.

Watson turned back to her and caught a glimpse of her standing there in her beautiful dress before rough hands seized him under his arms and pulled. Holmes was half off his horse in as he attempted to get Watson mounted. Stunned, the good doctor could do nothing to protest. Then he was slung uncomfortably in front of Holmes.

His one-time friend hauled him around until he was sitting sidesaddle, nearly across Holmes' lap. Watson gaped at his friend's unusual strength and madness.

"Holmes, I really-"

Sherlock Holmes chose that moment to lean forward and press his dry, chapped, and well-bitten lips to Watson's. He had a brief impression of whiskey, cheap bear, and disgusting chemicals as his wedding guests gasped and muttered around him.

"What in bloody blazes!" he shouted when Holmes released him.

"It's a rescue," Holmes declared again. He raised his pistol and, being careful to aim away from Watson, fired another round wildly. "And here we go!"

He clucked to the horse again, and the poor animal startled again and galloped wildly off.

The last anyone heard of John Watson that day was a long, drawn out wail of "HOLMES!"


End file.
